Desire And Dorothy Meet The Zero System
by Cozzybob
Summary: Desire pays Dorothy a visit while she's hooked to the Zero System.


**Desire And Dorothy Meet The Zero System**

Pairs: Desire, Dorothy, hints of 6xD... and 4+D, if you squint really hard.

Warning: Erm, if the title didn't give it way, a bit psychotic, ie: zero-ness. Also: Desire, one swear word, graphic depictions of war, violence, hidden angsting.

Note: For Jinsai (on LJ) upon request: "Sandman and Gundam Wing crossovers: Dorothy and Desire." You can find the other crossovers in my profile, but this is a stand-alone.

Second Note: Takes place during the last episode when Dorothy is using the Zero System to control the dolls... my memory's fuzzy since I haven't seen the show in over 6-7 years now, so I tried to keep most facts as vague possible. Yay!

Summary: Desire pays Dorothy a visit while she's hooked to the Zero System.

.

* * *

.

How did a woman grasp such a physical lust for war? To see them die brutal, pointless deaths was not a turn-on for her, but the glorious romance of the thing, of the emotions men will shed like old skin and blood, it gave her such a... it made her want... it made the world real. There was lust, and power, and open greed, and all those stinking corpses spilling blood from dead veins onto the metallic, modern floors; they couldn't hide the psychotic terror in their eyes when she dealt them the final blow, and they couldn't hide the sorrow of their loved ones, nor pretend that life was fine to go on without them. No self-respecting man could die such vulgar deaths in the carnage of global war and tell themselves that their mothers and wives and daughters who'd stayed behind, to preserve the home—_all women are bitches_, someone once said—they couldn't pretend that it was okay to die if the _women_ were safe, if the _women_ were protected, if the _women_ bore yet more sons to serve their nation and protect the precious values of freedom.

Because this was the modern age and fathers died right beside their fifteen-year-old sons, and daughters specialized themselves in combat training, gutting down all those chauvinist pigs with blood sprayed into a fine arc over their uniforms—the new You Can Do It Too of whatever century this was, because honestly, who was paying attention anymore? As long as they were fighting, Dorothy could watch them die. The Zero system that coursed through her mind told her that humanity, as the primary infectious disease of this planet, must be snuffed to preserve the mission.

The mission, the man. Her want. Grandfather. Revenge.

Sharp, sour eyes like the skin of a lemon pierced through the darkness of Zero's helmet, and she stumbled with a gasp. There was mocking laughter, and then a face that would forever haunt her nightmares—male, female, androgynous, beautiful, hungry, seething with lust. Outside, the mobile dolls regrouped and Zero chirped annoyingly at the distraction.

_Eliminate, concentrate, destroy, destroy, destroy..._

"Such a glorious girl you are. The pride of your family."

He—She?—It folded its arms in the blackened space before her eyes, the clothing it wore irrelevant to the face, hot glowing eyes that cut into her mind beyond even Zero's touch, and slurried cold, self-serving fingers around her brain matter to form her into what it would have her be; mindless, ravenous, obedient--_destroy_.

Dorothy closed her eyes, but it was still there, in her mind, smiling the most beautiful, sun-lit smile she'd ever seen in her life. Shuddering, she felt sick, and _wanted_—wanted what?

It approached—slithered toward her, like a snake, and lifted those perfectly manicured fingers to her cheek. It stroked there softly, just the way her mother used to do it. Those twin suns seared a deep, black hole through her body, and she shook her head, trying to resist it. She did _not_ want, she _needed_ and what she _needed_ was death.

"Oh you don't need _her_, princess," It said with a soft grin, and then it kissed her on the lips. It tasted like peaches in whipped cream, like passion fruit with an odd, iron tang—blood.

Zero shrieked the mission, the annihilation, Milliardo—_protectpossesshavesafekill Milliardo_—Epyon, Winner—there. She could smell his disgust, see the twin blades of Sandrock slice through a Taurus with screaming, bitter metal, and she knew that Winner would come. She forced the dolls to pound on him, to delay the interference, and thereby pounded them on her cousin as well, to destroy him too—_Treize never loved her anyway, if he'd loved her, he would have stayed away, he wouldn't have interfered, he wouldn't have let Grandfather die, he wouldn't have left her alone to her terrible family, he wouldn't have driven Milliardo mad, he wouldn't have pushed her away, he wouldn't have_—irrelevant, Treize's death was necessary to end the violence and gain the peace, and the mission was Peace, or Pacifism, or—gorgeous, sweet Relena _I hope you live to see the dawning of this new age—_

Dorothy desired, but what, she didn't know. Death and destruction and war and killing and murder and massacre and genocide and she hated it, she hated them all, hated all of humanity with their naïve little dinner table values—_you're no man, but you'll do_—everyone she'd ever loved piled in the world's greatest mass grave, she couldn't stand it, she refused to believe—

_He's coming, I can feel it, he's here, he's right outside the door, any minute now he's going to come through the door with the gun and I'm going to shoot him, and then I'll kill him, and it's such a shame because Zero remembers how Quatre's mind_—creator—_wept so beautifully for the dead, even when the sorrow was a frozen carcass in the dead of space, oh, his heavy, ragged breaths, the way he clutched at his chest in agony and then reaped death through the pain, again and again, until--_

It kissed her again, underneath her jaw. It whispered butterflies into her ear, and Zero moaned.

"I know what you want," it said, it taunted, it mocked—who dared mock her? It smiled.

But she didn't understand, and Zero was quickly losing control of itself—she sucked in deep, expelled the horrors of her mind and concentrated. Tried. The mission. Earth. Destruction.

Grandfather.

She changed her primary target to Treize and his foolish little dragon. It should be Milliardo fighting him, what right did that filthy little—but Milliardo was fighting the other man named after a pacifist, and that was irrelevant. The goal was—the mission was—she should end this. Or had she ended this? In her eyes, Treize exploded in a ball of orange rage, and the dragon screamed with loss. Une gave a number, but it changed every second that passed, and time was shifting, was Quatre already dead, had he come? Was she crying, was she—futures, pasts, memories, desires—_how sad, a woman that can't cry_—she didn't—she didn't understand—but she wanted—

It laughed an empty, gutted thing, and vanished into wisps of smoke when Quatre finally opened the door and pointed his gun at her.

She fired. She unsheathed her fencing coil and forced a stable smile.

--_Fini_


End file.
